Not a Blinker
by Lexikal
Summary: A few weeks after Hotch's attack by Foyet, Hotch experiences his first, and hopefully last, panic attack while on the jet. A one-shot. Please read and review! Rated T, just because I am paranoid...


**Title:** Not a Blinker by Lexikal

**Rating:** T (to be safe although it's probably more K+ or so)

**Fandom:** Criminal Minds

**Summary:** A few weeks (no specific cases are mentioned, thus, no spoilers) after being released from the hospital for Foyet's attack, Hotch suffers the first, and hopefully last, panic attack of his life. Takes place on the jet, while Jack and Haley are in Witness Protection/the Marshall's custody.

**Author's note:** This is a one-shot, not a multi-chapter story. I'm sorry in advance to anyone who reads this and wants it to be longer.

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"_**Leadership is action, not position."- **__Donald H. McGannon_

Hotch had been unusually quiet all day, Prentiss realized when they had been in the air forty minutes. Not that Hotch was naturally garrulous by any means, but usually he could be counted on to remark on a case or at least try to contribute one or two comments towards developing a profile. So far, though, he hadn't said anything and was staring out the window of the jet as Reid babbled about possible theories and listed off statistics.

Prentiss realized then, to her concern, that all the victims of their current case had been killed by stabbing. She'd known it intellectually the first time she'd heard the details, of course, but the reality of it hadn't sunk in for her... not until she looked over and saw Aaron Hotchner squashed in his seat, sweating slightly.

"The use of a knife to kill these victims may suggest our UnSub is impotent," Reid said, and Hotch physically recoiled slightly, as if he'd been hit. Reid stopped speaking sharply.

"Hotch, you _okay_?" Reid's voice was a squeak, as if he were only now starting to go through puberty.

"Fine, Reid. Continue with your... your... I'm going to go get some _water_..." His face was pale and he was breathing a little too fast. Prentiss glanced across the aisle at Rossi, who was watching Hotch with eagle eyes. Reid nodded and moved so Hotch could get out and the man very stiffly walked to the bathroom, even though they had a small mini fridge in the middle of the jet stocked with drinks.

Rossi got out of his seat and trailed after Hotch, his left eye tightening. It always did that when Rossi was determined or focused or, in this case, concerned. He knocked on the bathroom door lightly.

"Just a second," Hotch said a little bit too perfectly, and Rossi could hear the barely restrained fear in those three words.

"Aaron? It's Dave," Rossi said smoothly, pitching his voice low. No doubt the entire team knew something was up, but he still wanted to give Aaron Hotchner some modicum of privacy.

There was the sound of a toilet flushing and then water running and the door unlocked. Hotch was breathing quickly, a bit too fast, and he was a little bit too pale, but beside those things he looked... relatively normal.

"Are you alright?" David Rossi asked his friend seriously, studying the man. Hotch took a deep breath and held it. Nodded. He closed his eyes, but a few seconds later they flew open and in those dark brown eyes was pure terror.

"_Hotch_?" Rossi repeated. "What's going on?"

"J-Just feels a little hard to breathe, is _all_..." Hotch trailed. He attempted a smile, but it fell flat and humourless on his rugged features. "Like there isn't enough air in the cabin anymore."

"A smothering sensation? Is your heart racing?"

"Yes," Hotch choked out. He opened his mouth and took another deep breath, a hungry breath.

"Any other symptoms?"

"M-My father died of a heart attack at the age of 47," Hotch informed Rossi wearily, one hand pressed against the thin fabric of his shirt, the other loosening his tie as if it had suddenly become a noose.

"Are you experiencing chest pain right now?" Rossi demanded. Hotch nodded and gasped again.

"H-How long until we land?" His voice wasn't exactly shaking, not yet, but there was a definite tremor in it. Rossi smiled gently at the Agent, knowing full well that very often it was the people who seemed the most resilient and "together" who crashed the hardest... when they finally did crash.

"Aaron, I doubt you're having a heart attack," Rossi said in his smoothest, most convincing tone. "This looks like a panic attack to me. Have you ever had a panic attack before?"

Hotch shook his head back and forth quickly, just twice, as if the very idea were absurd.

"Well, welcome to your first one..."

"It feels like...I feel like I am going to_ die_..." Hotch trailed. The team had started speaking again, Reid speaking about the significance of the knife, and Hotch felt cold. He shivered. Rossi caught the shiver.

"This case... this case put you on edge, but you started really panicking when Reid mentioned possible impotence because of the knife. Piquerism. _Why_?"

Aaron Hotchner shrugged and remembered what Foyet had said during the attack, when the man had been stabbing him, over and over and over. What he had said shortly before the first stab... he'd wondered whether or not Hotch would ever view knife attacks the same way- as a sign of sexual impotence.

"Something Foyet said to you?" Rossi prodded and Hotch got up and walked over to the mini fridge. He fumbled through it and pulled out a seltzer water, glancing over at the rest of his team as he passed their tiny little section of the jet.

"Good work, guys. Thank you."

"Um...you're welcome?" Reid squeaked again, sounding confused. Hotch continued walking and sat down on the sofa. Rossi sighed and went to the mini-fridge himself, pulled out a cola and sat beside Aaron Hotchner.

"You know, just burying this... it's not going to help you long-term, Aaron. Jack's going to_ need_ a father who..."

"I'm not burying _anything_," Hotch said with a gasp and unscrewed his water. He took small, delicate sips, as if forcing himself to move slowly and talk slowly might somehow tame the dreaded beast of anxiety.

"You're still panicking. Believe me, I know."

"_You've_ had panic attacks?" Hotch asked Rossi, his eyebrows lifting slightly.

"Are you kidding me, Aaron? I founded the BAU. How could I not have had panic attacks by now?"

"I just..." Hotch trailed and took another deep, ragged breath. It was getting a bit easier to breathe, but not by much, and his hands still felt like ice and were shaking slightly. His heart was still galloping, missing the odd beat here and there. "You never struck me as the kind of person..."

"What kind of person? _Human_?" Rossi asked, mildly amused. "_Anyone_ can panic, Aaron. _Anyone_. Some more easily than others, as you know. It's just a fight or flight response, and anyone who has been stabbed _nine_ times by a sadistic..."

Hotch nodded and shut his eyes, exhaling sharper than he intended. "_Okay. _How long do these things last?"

"You're feeling pretty terrible, aren't you?"

"I thought I was having a heart attack..." Hotch admitted in between gasps. "And it's still hard to breathe."

"Usually, if you focus on something else and try to take deep breaths and refocus your attention, they don't last longer than ten minutes. But they can cycle for hours or even days on end if you don't learn how to deal with them," Rossi said softly. "Which is why I suggested you don't bury this."

Hotch nodded and leaned his head into one hand tiredly.

"If this becomes a pattern, I will lose my position on the team," Hotch informed Rossi wearily. "And I can't let that happen. Morgan's already the new SAC. I screw up anymore..."

"Panic attacks aren't screwing up, Aaron. And who is going to say anything? Not me, and I doubt anybody else on your team..."

Hotch exhaled and took another sip of water. His eyes were still shut tight and when he swallowed, it was audible.

"I've heard of these before, of course. I never thought they could feel so terrifying," Hotch's voice was wavering, like a radio channel that's slightly out of tune. "I never thought you could feel like you were dying so much, and not be."

"Hence, the amazing power of the human mind," David Rossi quipped. "Let me ask you; when Foyet was attacking you, were you _this_ afraid? I know you felt, at least on some level, physical pain, but fear or terror..."

"_No_," Hotch cut him off. "I felt... technically I was dissociated, I guess."

"_Exactly_," Rossi said simply. "Exactly. If you'd shown fear then, you would have given Foyet what he wanted and you knew that, so you shut down psychologically. The only problem there is that _that_ fear can't be displaced forever. Eventually you have to pay the psychic bill, and it looks like you're doing that now..."

Hotch nodded and took another deep, ragged breath.

"Slower; more from the gut. In through your nose..."

Hotch nodded, but he was terribly pale, paler than he'd been before Rossi had mentioned Foyet's name. Definitely _not_ a heart attack.

"So... after this attack, the bill, so to speak... this will be_ it_?"

Rossi shrugged sadly. "After a particularly brutal case early on in my career I had panic attacks for years. _Usually_ at night."

Hotch nodded miserably. "And they can come at any time." He said flatly, and took another sip of his water.

"I'm afraid so." Rossi said. "But they_ can't_ kill you. They can just scare you into _thinking they can_ _kill you..."_ Rossi gazed down at Aaron Hotchner, who was still pale and sweating, his hands shaking lightly.

"I'm going to go return to the team. Remember; just take low, deep breaths. If you start to feel faint, but your head down between your knees."

"_Thanks_, David," Hotch forced out, just a hint of sarcasm in the words. He didn't see the look of empathy on David Rossi's face, because he didn't reopen his eyes.

Rossi slowly made his way back to the table and Reid moved over to allow him access to the seat that had, minutes ago, belonged to Hotch. Reid raised his eyebrows expectantly and Morgan looked concerned. Prentiss opened her mouth to ask.

"_Panic attack_," Rossi said simply, before any of them could say anything.

"Is he _okay_? My mom used to get _horrible _panic-"

"He'll be fine, Reid," Rossi said, not unkindly. Reid craned his head, but he couldn't see the older man. His face was marred with obvious concern and compassion.

"Is he still panicking?" Prentiss asked softly. She didn't want to pry, but she had been the one to find Hotch's apartment in disarray, the first one at the hospital to see him. She'd seen the heart monitor go crazy at St. Sebastian's- probably an early panic episode, now that she thought of it. How could he not be having trouble, after all he'd gone through with the Reaper?

"He'll be fine," Rossi told her bluntly, and she could tell from the determination in David Rossi's eyes that he honestly believed it. Rossi and Hotch had known each other a long time, and if Rossi thought Hotch would be okay, well, that was about as reassuring as it got.

They turned back to discussing the case then, leaving Hotch to battle his own demons amongst a few more bottles of seltzer water. He'd rejoin them when he was ready.

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FIN. Liked it? Hated it? **Please review.** Yes, it's a one shot, so it won't be added to. I just wanted to write a "Hotch-loses-it-a-little" scene. It's not as h/c as many people probably would have liked, because Hotch is the type of character that doesn't really allow himself to be comforted excessively, as far as I am concerned. Thanks for reading! Lexikal


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